


Transcational Certainty

by silasfinch



Series: The Arrangement [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anniversary, Committed Relationship, F/F, Families of Choice, Marriage of Convenience, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silasfinch/pseuds/silasfinch
Summary: A marriage of ten years in snapshots.A transactional arrangement that beats the odds.Parenting, Schemes, Dancing, Languages and Kittens
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: The Arrangement [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067720
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Transcational Certainty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rysler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rysler/gifts), [Ghostwriter84](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostwriter84/gifts).



> To Rysler: Merry Christmas and thanks for wonderful editing.  
> To Ghostwriter84: Who gave me the original idea in the comments

_To love is to accept a soul entirely, not wishing that the person was otherwise, nor hoping for change, nor clinging to some ideal past. To love is to cherish the individual standing before you presently―charms, quirks, and all. To love is to give someone a piece of your heart that you will never, ever reclaim - Richelle E Goodrich_

The marriage that fewer than three people thought would last into double digits is entering its 10th year. 

The easiest way to measure such time is to look at the unconventional family that was brought together by a Machiavellian politician and a dying dancer. The twins who we came together to raise are turning 18 and preparing to live lives as young adults. Both Irina and Igor have decent grades and good plans for the future, both professionally and socially. Konstantin’s biggest hope during this crazy gamble was that his Deaf daughter would have a safe place to call home. He didn't have a family to rely on, so he did the most Soviet thing ever by using money, influence and manipulation to invent one. 

"Are we sure about Rini leaving the country to study? She is still clingy and naive. What's to stop her going all _Children of a Lesser God_ and getting her trampled or something. Her tantrums are long and boring still?" Oksana frets as we start packing her seventh bag. 

"There needs to be better diversity in the film world if that classic is your only frame of reference. By which you mean some older more sophisticated person takes advantage?" I guess the reason for the name drop. 

"We have put far too much work into her to throw it all away on an acceptance high."

"She is your student of human nature and is unlikely to fall for easy tricks."

"Please, Irina will never be a true student of mine. She is too soft, in every way, and has far too much privilege before that word became a curse. Rini is lovable, but she only has teeth and grit to a point. Igor is making progress, but still, they are both so...British." Oksana says the last word with no small amount of true scorn and contempt. 

"For the last time. We are not sending the twins to a Soviet-style academy on the outskirts of Siberia. Your old mentors from the Bolshoi have their place but it isn't with the children in our care. They will learn plenty of adulting right here in the UK and Europe." I say firmly. 

"Konstantin was bizarrely sentimental about his roots and the not so Cold War. He would approve of Igor and Irina learning about their heritage directly. It wouldn't be a 'real' Soviet camp or anything." Oksana replies, almost fretfully. 

"Better life, Oksana. We are giving the children a better life, not a nostalgic one. If they have a desire we will do all the touristy things in your homeland, The Hermitage, the churches, the Romanovs." 

"Over my dead body are we doing any of those useless money pits. If Irina brings home a bloody nesting doll, I will smash it to pieces." Oksana threatens forcefully. 

Both of us are overtalking for the sake of having something to do while we wait for the milestone. Neither wants to talk about the emotions directly and the twins were too grown up to have emotional conversations with their guardians. The option left is talking in circles and debating old points that were settled long ago. I guess that is the feature of a successful union, the ability to navigate periods of tension. 

***

**Year One** : is a drunken mess with Oksana’s friends from the dance world. 

In a way, it's not surprising. If there were ever people that have an investment in our relationship, it’s the primary architects of the ceremony. Oksana moves between products and isn't particularly good at keeping in touch. However, we seem to develop friends as a couple by default. In the beginning, it is useful to make the arrangement believable; in the end, it becomes an enjoyable reality. 

The most important thing is that these people are the kind to adore Irina and Igor and spoil them rotten when visiting. The rhythms of such a circle are familiar in the past with Konstantin. We see them every few months and everyone swoons over our manufactured love story. The guilt doesn't prick my conscience anymore, especially when everyone looks so happy. Our arrangement is both a private and a public affair. 

They present us with a wonderfully sentimental gift of paper, to signify the first anniversary. The scrapbook and the beautifully stylised sign language version of _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ There is a DVD, which presumably shows the play in action. The edges of the book are in the same colours as our wedding reception. The art is feverous and sentimental, but it makes me smile. 

_"Should we tell them that the signing isn't great and BSL isn't often put in that form. You are practically twitching at the little finger placement." Oksana asks me in sign, practically vibrating with amusement._

_"Don't you dare. A lot of effort went into such a sentimental mistake. We will keep it as a treasure. Who knows if we will make it to year two._ " _I snark back with a mock scowl._

_"What do I get as a reward if we succeed?" Oksana asks challengingly._

_"Whatever you want in cotton." I offer with a touch of sincerity._

***

 **Year Two** : is spent in hospital waiting for my father to die. 

In a way, the arrangement and the finances it allows open the world for me. My parents receive a level of care and devotion that would be impossible to afford on my modest income. They both deteriorate in different ways but remain happy, too. I even have a few more recent photos in the albums to go with the memories of childhood and the early years. They both still have great pride in talking about the daughter who makes a life for herself. 

Our weekly visits are no longer a hardship and are even pleasant when we talk about childhood and trips. Neither of them will understand my present and marriage. Still, we are in a happy medium without the constant tension of financial worries and the disintegration of my first marriage. I have been expecting the call from the hospital for months now. That notion does not make the reality any easier to live within the hard, plastic hospital chairs. 

"The twins drew some truly dreadful cards and get well messages. The glitter is disgustingly cheap, yet here I am delivering this garbage, like a good little housewife. I did bring real coffee though." Oksana stage whispers well past visiting hours. 

"Do you want a medal?" 

“Please, you can think of much better rewards on those new sheets you brought for a ridiculous amount of money.”

***

 **Year Three** : Is a high point of jealousy and resentment when Oksana _doesn't_ have an affair with a student. 

Somewhere along the way, I made the mistake of becoming emotionally invested in this relationship 100%. Whatever lines I have drawn to protect myself with both Oksana and Carolyn are failing. On an intellectual level, I know that my wife has a transitory notion of monogamy and commitment. Even our long, emotional chats do not change a fundamental truth. 

Oksana flirts as naturally as breathing, and no amount of paperwork is going to change that reality. On top of that, she has the mystic of a celebrity dancer with a firm following in certain circles. There is temptation around every corner. My experience with Rachel is enough to make my hyper-vigilant and aware but no magical roadmap for understanding what to do when the radar for cheating is on overdrive. 

"You would make a horrible spy, even if there was a company that needs the combined talents of an interpreter in multiple languages. Your face is far too transparent to do any good. The adoption people truly were idiots to believe you that time." Oksana makes the observation casually as we aren't in the rain. 

We are standing in the carpark of one of the dance studios my wife works out of between shows. There is no reason or justification for me to be there. It goes against everything we stood for at the beginning of this agreement. The only real reason is that Josie, the perky 22 years old, got under my skin. Oksana is wasting valuable floor time out here glaring at me. 

"Would it be a disappointment to you to know that I am or that _not_ having a torrid affair with the barely conscious stick insect who is in sapphic denial? We have enough languages between us to come up with a satisfactory explanation." 

The traditional gift for this year is leather, there are so many jokes about sex toys. We spend allot of time on an expensive therapist’s vegan leather coach, which counts.

***

 **Year Four** : Is a wonderful trip to Seoul, Korea to please my mother. 

"You don't need to come with me. I give you full permission to veto this trip. We are not going to any of the fun or exciting parts, merely a sentimental journey for my mum. We definitely come from the working stock side." 

Oksana doesn't bother to look up from the packing, where she is neatly stacking everything into rows. For somebody who is naturally messy, my wife is a surprising master at packing. It comes from travelling so much and needing to pack away such expensive outfits. Thankfully the twins are learning such habits from her. 

"Don't you know that I make any trip fun, there are few minor adjustments to the schedule, nothing to hasten your mother's demise or anything. However, you won't go cross-eyed hearing the same story about a great uncle you will never met." Oksana explains breezily. 

"That's oddly sentimental of you, Sweetheart." I kiss Oksana affectionately on the forehead. 

It's a thin line to tread between acknowledging the infrequent tenderness and mercy without making too much of a big deal. Oksana has a complex web of motivations that sustain her. There is no sense in trying to untangle the root cause. 

The traditional gift for that year (though sauces vary) is fruit or flowers. We are set on both counts in the different gardens and night markets. Oksana even picks up a new perfume that lingers in both my memory and the sheets.

***

 **Year Five** : is when we confront the reality of raising teenager head-on. 

Oddly enough, Oksana is dealing with the situation with far more calmness than I am. No amount of reading on fostering prepares you for reality. 

The key with Oksana's management style is she appears to find Irina's most extreme fits of rebellion far more amusing than troubling, even if such acts involve fire, smoking or heartbreak. There is no trouble that our charge can get into that Oksana hasn't already done or topped spectacularly. She has a sixth sense when it comes to tracking down our little runaway. No matter how clever Rini thinks she is being, Oksana can figure out the new plan in a matter of seconds. 

_"_ You are very good with her, Sky Dancer," I compliment as we head to the latest efforts to ditch school, even though she is getting superior grades. 

"I'm truly not; it's just that she is hilariously bad at playing the rebel. Rini wants the kick of adrenaline without facing any real consequences for stepping out of line. She is as transparent about that as you are about your sapphic and other more specific desires. Human psychology is easy, boring but easy." Oksana dismisses her insights and contributions. 

_"Go Away!"_ our charge insists with big, sweeping sign gestures. 

_"We haven't gone away the last 17 times you have tried this, or let you run off with the first boy on the scene. What makes you think now will be any different, you didn't even leave the city."_ Oksana drips scorn with every sign. 

The traditional gift for that year is wood, which is an odd turn of fate. Irina tries our patience so much we have to reinforce her door when she is kicks holes, in a fit of temper. Oksana laughs at the display before taking our charge to a boxing gym to find a more useful and forgiving target.

***

 **Year Six** : Is when we all face the uniqueness of an unemployed Oksana. 

In some ways, I start to regret my status as her most constant groupie. It means I am there in the front row when everything goes to hell. The production is a high end one, involving the best technology and support. There is an understudy for every major position and the security to match. However, none of these luxuries protects Oksana from an awkward fall and gravity's revenge. She will never admit this out loud but her greatest fear, like all dancers, is a bad fall that puts her out of action for an extended time. 

One small mercy is that this is a dress rehearsal, and there are few people here to witness the agony. Time seems to freeze, and I can do nothing but watch it all unfold, the numb sensation of shock creeping into my limbs. There is a medical staff onsite, but he is a trainee doctor and immediately rings for assistance. The list of complaints he rattles off sounds truly horrifying. 

I know the routines well enough to recognise that it goes wrong from the start. Even Oksana's hyper-flexible legs balk at that degree of extension. My wife once said that joints could resist great pressure but not if they are doing so at an old angle. Her right leg all but crumples with a sickening sound. There is a brief look of intense shock on her face before my wife goes deathly pale and collapses. 

"I am her wife, I'm going with her." The statement has never felt so true. 

Thankfully, the ambulance driver is too busy sorting everything out to give my order a second thought. Oksana still looks small and vulnerable on the stretcher, with multiple drips and tubes. The terrible look of agony gives way to the fussiness of some seriously strong medication. The vacant look in her eyes would be terrifying on any other occasion. Now it is a relief. I grasp her hand loosely in reassurance. 

"I'm done. There is no coming back from big bone breaks...not at my age. I told you once, it would be a hard blaze of glory that got me in the end." Oksana rasps the words in a strange mixture of triumph and terror. 

"You have the ego of a surgeon, but you are not one, let's see what the experts say before writing everything off." I say forcefully as she starts to drift off to sleep. 

A sinking part of me suspects her assessment of the situation might be chillingly accurate. The traditional gift for that year (though sources vary) is confectionary or iron, which is a odd combination. We settle for Oksana’s crutches and balance beams becoming a feature of the house. Naturally enough, it doesn’t take long for her to try and do tricks while playing with gravity.

***

 **Year Seven** : Oksana is bizarrely sentimental for no reason at all. 

"We are going out to dinner. Wear that new dress you insist looks to young on you, it’s perfect." 

I am in the middle of a stack of marking for the latest Sign Language Theory and History class. While it is more theoretical and dry than I am used to teaching, the students are committed and engaging with the content. My lecture isn't one that too many people wander into accidentally unless you are Oksana wanting to tease me about authority/student kink. The fact that glasses are becoming an increasing necessity for me, only seems to increase the temptation for her. Nevertheless, she tends to leave me alone to do marking while she works out. Almost without knowing we develop a level of routine and regularity to the evening. 

"Why would I do that when I have a perfectly good glass of wine and ten more papers to grade?" I ask without much curiosity as I try to untangle a terrible sentence. 

"Since one of your idiot friends filled your head with stupid natterings about seven-year itches and other feats of useless magazine psychology. Honestly, Claire may use the brainpower of a flea, but I thought you would be a little more discerning. She reads grammar books for fun?" Oksana signs the last bit to mock me. 

"Don't worry about it...I was just rambling after too much wine." I shrug stiffly, trying to return to the seat and work. 

"I'm not worried about it, because it's a stupid argument. You were old and going grey when I met you, complete with routines and wrinkles. Seven years isn't going to make a difference to the primary or secondary objective." Oksana tugs and marches me towards the door. 

"Which are?" I ask curiously as we head to the wardrobe. 

"Keeping the twins from ending up on social work posters and having fun, of course." Oksana shares the last part, gleefully. 

The traditional gift for that year is cooper or wool. My scheming and manipulative wife opts for a beautiful cooper tub with claw feet. The bathroom feature is a thing of beauty and is customed built to fit two people, including a long former dancer. Oksana is never going to be the type of person to sit down and talk through insecurities but extravagance _is_ her language.

***

 **Year Eight** : Is a strangely wonderful moment with the twins. 

Igor and Irina don't want to be seen with us much in public. But they make an exception for the night. Irina, in particular, is going through a rebellious phase that even extends to not signing with us properly and retreating into her world. Luckily Oksana is usually able to prod or shame her out of such moods, with a few down and out arguments. Maybe that is the ultimate of Konstantin’s wisdom, knowing that the unorthodox approach of his favourite student is what his daughter needs. Igor is much easier to convince. 

"What's going on?" Oksana asks, looking at Igor with a healthy amount of suspicion. 

The twin in question is standing beside a beautifully laid out table, set for four people. There are candles, steaming plates, and napkins. Irina is bringing a massive serving tray from the kitchen. The mixture of smells is both meat and any number of spices. Without knowing for sure, there is likely a combination of both our favourite meals and flavours. The twins have expressions of both embarrassment and pride. 

"You guys do a lot for us, it’s no big deal to put everything into a crockpot and set the table." Igor absently signs for his sister but keeps his attention on his guests for the evening. 

What they are describing is a big deal, but both of us are wise enough not to mention anything directly at this point. We will never be anything close to a conventional family unit; there was no expectation or fine print that we would pull that off. However, managing to make connections with these increasingly difficult and frustrating teenagers still feels like an achievement. 

The traditional gift for that year is bronze or pottery. I smile when I see the giant serving bowls that are from our trip to Korea. They are too big and impractical but they have sentimental meaning on multiple levels.

***

 **Year Nine** : Carolyn presents us with an obnoxiously expensive gift, possibly for tax purposes or as an ego trip. 

In some ways, Carolyn views our successful union as her crowning achievement. It is also a tribute to her lost love, who she could never be with openly. While even an ageing politician will not admit such witnesses, the evidence is everywhere. Kenny and Geraldine Snowdon are resentful but expect nothing less from their eccentric largely absentee mother. The number of zeros in their respective bank accounts goes some way to soothing the psychological pain. 

"I do not need this property any more. Look it over; if everything is to your liking, the lawyer will sign over all the paperwork in the next week. The maintenance costs are set for the next year at least. Please keep the roses; they are heritage." Carolyn makes the request airily as if offering a drink. 

"Are you in a position to be throwing properties around like sweepstakes?" I ask, taking the folder gingerly. 

"It's best you don't ask such questions, Eve. It gets your fragile little moral compass in a twirl. All you need to know is that everything is perfectly legal and my brain _isn't_ shrivelling from dementia." Carolyn looks at me sharply over her glasses. 

Oksana is far more accustomed to outlandish gifts than I, having lovesick exes in the minor European nobility. She is eagerly tearing through the information, noting with approval the pool and elaborate deck. There are spare rooms for the twins (a central consideration) and a small workout space. 

The house is luxurious, but not in an embarrassing reality show way. This place is still within the comfort bracket of our life as guardians of Konstantin's trust and assets. The government shouldn't find such property interesting. Throughout the years, we have been conducting a delicate dance by acquiring and discarding wealth to keep the taxman happy. Our marriage of convenience is so long term that is unlikely to attract much attention now. It should worry me more than it does that my life involves these calculations now. 

"We'll take this beauty out for a spin, Fairy Godmother Carolyn." Oksana promises with her usual amount of casual mockery. 

The traditional gift for that year is either willow or pottery. One of my favourite spots in the new holiday home is the willow at the bottom the garden with a reading bench. Oksana teases me for being so sentimental but she sometimes joins me there to workout. I feel decidedly English having a holiday home with willow trees. After so many years all over the world.

***

"Buy me a cat, one of those special needs tragic cases that get the corny background music."

I look up from the book I'm reading while giving Oksana a slightly incredulous look. However, recognising that this isn't a passing whim I take off the reading glasses that pride makes me wear less than I should. Oksana is standing in front of me, holding a pad that doubtless has images of said helpless special needs cats. This sudden desire is a strange reaction to an empty house for my wife, who is uncomfortably far down the narcissism scale. She loves the twins but only in her extremely specific way. 

"Why would I be doing that exactly, also can you manufacture such creatures on-demand now?" I ask drily setting aside my book. 

"We played your favourite role play game last night, and your back is still recovering..." Oksana replies, moving to invade my personal space with a suggestive wink. 

"Which was extremely pleasant, but I am still failing to make the correlation? Am I supposed to be overwhelmed by endorphins and thus unable to say no?" I tease mainly to frustrate her into a pout. 

"Well, if I can be all soft and pliable for you, it may be worth returning the favour. The house is big and empty without something young and dependent to fuss and teach sign language at, why not the pitter-patter of little paws instead of two uncoordinated Russian orphans with attitude problems?" Oksana reasons before placing a series of kisses on my neck. 

"Why Oksana, is your latent maternal instinct finally coming into effect? Will the wonders of science never cease?" I comment, unable to keep the mocking from my tone. 

"More like an example of Affective Habituation, I think, no longer responding to the presence of a stimulus, need more, dopamine, etc etc." Oksana crams in psychological terms at random. 

"That makes a certain degree of sense if I squint and ignore your bastardisation of psychology. I'm assuming because you are taking this form of attack, that you have a particular set of kittens in mind? Are they sitting in our bedrooms with bows or something?" I ask with a healthy amount of scepticism. 

"You were supposed to bargain and haggle more. I had a PowerPoint presentation and everything, there were cat animations." Oksana is genuinely sulking now. 

"My most important survival strategy over these last ten years is energy conservation and learning the best times to kick up a fight. Besides, deaf cats might be an interesting experience. But you know that animals don't learn real sign language, right?" I reason with a tolerant smile. 

"I'll submit to your boring lecture about syntax later, first come and see the kittens. They are brothers, Irina wants to call them Galaxy and Gravity for no reason at all." Oksana reaches out and pulls me off the chair. 

"So my acceptance or not of this scheme was a token gesture?" I ask with a laugh. 

"More like I was at least ten steps ahead of you as always. _I_ knew we were going to make this arrangement work at least twenty freak-outs before you did." Oksana boasts, dragging me to the bedroom. 

The two kittens on the bed are pure white with blue eyes, the most common type to present with congenital deafness. They don't have bows or bowties around their necks, but the emotional blackmail is still plain for anyone to see. Finding suitable homes for special needs cats can be difficult at the best of times, much less 'kitten season.’ The selective breeding that creates these populations is a terrible and frustrating industry. 

"Aren't they adorable?" Oksana asks carefully scooping one up and putting him in my lap. I am not by nature, either a cat person or a pet person in general. However, there was a time when I wasn't the type to marry for money. Let alone stay married to a flirtatious Russian polyglot with no sense of boundaries or common human norms. Adopting two special needs kittens is relatively tame in comparison. 

"You had me at buying me a cat, Sky Dancer. But we are not dressing them in anything fancy or outlandish." I say firmly watching the kitten as he orients to the environment. 

"As you wish, my darling wife. I will accept any parameters of a new arrangement." Oksana says dutifully with an odd trace of seriousness in her voice. 

I lean over and kiss her before too much thinking happens. Another staple of this marriage of convenience and translation. My protests are minimal when Oksana starts featuring the cats on Christmas cards and they become the centre of our new lives.


End file.
